


Under a Cloud

by thisbluespirit



Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Community: 100fandoms, Community: genprompt_bingo, F/M, Jedi, Mentions of Mental Illness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-07
Updated: 2020-02-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:20:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22603120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisbluespirit/pseuds/thisbluespirit
Summary: It's been hundreds of years, and nobody believes in the Jedi any more.
Relationships: Padmé Amidala/Obi-Wan Kenobi, Qui-Gon Jinn & Obi-Wan Kenobi
Comments: 6
Kudos: 76
Collections: Genprompt Bingo Round 17, The 100 Multifandom Challenge





	Under a Cloud

**Author's Note:**

> For the genprompt_bingo square "The Age of Reason" and 100fandoms prompt #63 "theory". Where this odd idea came from, though, I'm not entirely sure.

The clouds that billow around the Senate building are tinged with black and sulphurous yellow today; yesterday was violet-and-red. The halls and apartments within are light and elegant enough, but a city-world’s pollution chokes the air outside. Senator Amidala glances out of the window before she leaves, trying not to think about the debate she’s going to lose this afternoon. And yet, she _will_ try. Some part of her hasn’t entirely learned how to give up.

Outside in the long, high corridor, she barely notices the man leaving the quarters of the representative from Jedha until he stops in front of her. “Excuse me,” he says, “I don’t suppose you can point me to the way out?”

She laughs. “Of course I can. Was your meeting that bad?”

“Worse,” he says, and gives her a wry smile. “I said it was no use sending me.”

Padmé bites back a smile, falling into step beside him. She feels, oddly, as if the day has lightened. “If it’s any consolation, I’ve never had much luck trying to get Senator Meyg to agree with anything I say, either.”

“It’s not that surprising – we suspect that he’s got a vested interest in levelling the Temple. But we did think he would at least agree to present the petition, being our representative. Besides, what other Senator would see me?”

Padmé bit her lip. “I might know one. What is your petition?”

“Opposing the destruction of the Temple of the Kyber – on Jedha. You see my difficulty?”

She holds out a hand. “Let me look.” And as he passes her a datapad, she lifts her head, studies him more carefully, beyond the fact that he has a nice smile. He’s somewhere in his thirties, fair-haired, bearded, and wearing a plain grey tunic with a sleeveless lighter robe over it; clearly not a statesman. “I’m sorry, I’m being rude – what’s your name?”

“Obi-Wan Kenobi,” he says. “I’m with the University of the Republic there.”

She studies the petition, which seems legitimate, and has the required 100,000 signatures. Meyg should have taken it, but if he has a vested interest, she isn’t all that surprised. It’s a risk, though: Obi-Wan now has grounds for complaint if he wants. And if Meyg is so confident that he won’t, then maybe he wasn’t being modest when he said they shouldn’t have sent him. It’s a reminder to tread carefully.

“You’re a historian, then?” she says; the experienced courtier, putting a nervous provincial at ease. “How fascinating.”

The Jedi are long gone, and stories of them sound like a child’s tale rather than real Galactic history. Everyone knows how it happened, how over five centuries ago, the Sith returned and were defeated; how the battle was so terrible the Senate requested the disbandment of the Jedi rather than risk anyone abusing the powers of the Force again. Better to make sure no one ever learnt; let it all die. It’s only a story, though, a far-away dream; smoke to obscure the truth of history, even if there is still a small but dying following for the religion across the Republic. Scholars and archaeologists traipse to the old Jedi sites, like Jedha City, with its temple, as do cultists and frauds, all the cranks and mystics. She really hopes Obi-Wan isn’t one of those. 

“Not as such,” says Obi-Wan, and when she looks up with a faint frown, he shrugs. “Not any more. It’s a long story. Not very interesting or edifying, either, I’m afraid.”

She has the datapad in her hand, about to ask more about the details of the petition – it seems like something with galactic-wide implications, so there’s no reason she can’t bring it before the Senate and the Chancellor – when two of the Senatorial Guard tear down the corridor towards them at a run. She and Obi-Wan both step back to allow them to pass.

“I hope you’re not a wanted criminal,” she says, with a grin.

He laughs. “No. Usually merely unwanted, truth be told.”

And that’s when the Guards take him away, and everything seems just as dark as it did before.

Captain Typho comes hurrying along the corridor shortly afterwards, slowing as he reaches Padmé. “My lady. I heard there was a dangerous dissident loose in this area. May I remind you not to walk about the Senate building alone – again?”

“You may,” she says. “I suppose you haven’t yet this week so it is about time.”

He stiffens. “My lady –”

“I’m sorry, it’s only – I don’t think he _was_ a dissident, or dangerous,” she says, the petition still in her hand. “Can you find out what you can about an Obi-Wan Kenobi? He’s from Jedha, from the University there.”

“My lady.” It’s amazing how much variety he can get into those two words. This time they’re wary yet resigned; he’ll do what she asks, but he doesn’t approve.

She turns her head. “Truly, Captain. I’m not being reckless. I’ve got his petition – I’ve got to do something with it. So, I need to know whether he’s genuine or not.”

There’s not much available on Obi-Wan Kenobi, but Captain Typho provides her with his University record, and when she raises an eyebrow, he looks past her and says, “Don’t ask.”

Padmé puts her hand to her head, and hesitates before beginning. Maybe she’s not being ethical, either, but she’s become entangled in other people’s machinations before. Before she sticks her neck out to try and help Obi-Wan, she has to know _something_.

The record is official, bald. It states the facts – initial high grades as a student, and then a research post, but from there it isn’t very edifying, like he said. A rejected thesis – reliance on unsound sources – a long gap in the record, and then an appointment to an administrative post. The most illuminating thing in it is a brief letter of recommendation from a Mace Windu that they allow Kenobi to take up the latter position, since he refers to an illness, mistreatment; the incident was rooted in shock and trauma, he notes. He’s sure there will be no such recurrence. He seems to have been right so far – unless that has changed since Kenobi arrived on Coruscant.

The only way to find out the truth is to ask.

Having made enquiries, she goes to the detention centre herself – Typho’s stiff with disapproval again beside her. There seems to have been a misunderstanding, or at least, when she makes enquiries, she’s told Kenobi is being released on condition he goes nowhere near Senate Administrator Dooku. 

When she meets him coming out of the door, he looks sheepish, clutching his cloak; a little rougher round the edges than yesterday. “Hello again. Senator Amidala, I believe?”

“Yes. I’ve a proposition for you,” she says. “Come to my office. I’ll give you breakfast – and you can answer some questions.” 

It’s not really an offer he can afford to refuse.

“So,” she says, once she’s let him make a start on some jawa juice and the buffet her people have laid out for them. “Who are you?”

He pauses, his expression wry. “I told you that much yesterday. Unlike you, my lady.”

“Sorry,” she says. “You will understand that I need to be cautious. Captain Typho believes I’m not being careful enough inviting you back here.”

They both glance over and up at the nearby Captain, who attempts to ignore them, staring ahead.

“I’m not dangerous,” Obi-Wan says to the Captain, quietly. “Nor a criminal. I promise.”

The Captain merely says, addressing Padmé, “I wanted to know if that will be all, my lady?” But his stance has softened.

“For the moment,” she tells him and as he moves away, she turns back to Obi-Wan. “If you’re not a criminal, what was that all about?”

He laughs. “I sent a message to Administrator Dooku, requesting an audience. Apparently he really didn’t want to see me.”

“And this petition,” she says, placing it on the table in front of her. “I can take it before the Senate, although I can’t promise they will listen. But if you want me to make an argument in its favour, I have to know if there are any other aspects I’m not aware of. Also if you might be used to discredit the whole business – and me – then, I need to know that, too. People have tried similar things before.”

Obi-Wan rubs his forehead, brushing his hair back. “Ah.”

“You do understand?” she adds. “I know a little – I saw your official University record.”

He draws back, the light in him fading. “So you already know that everyone thinks I’m mad. That I probably am mad.”

“I’d merely like you to explain.” She smiles. “As long as you’re not one of those Jedi cultists!”

He meets her gaze, sudden rueful amusement in his eyes. “I’m sorry, my lady – I’m not entirely sure I’m _not_. That’s the problem.”

“Tell me about it,” says Padmé. “I can give you my verdict after.”

“Jedi cultists,” he says, after a few moments more. He waves a hand. “Yes. We get a lot of them in the city. You can imagine. We avoid them at all costs. They’re credulous mystics, madmen, or fraudsters, selling tall tales and tat to tourists, whereas we, of course, study the subject with proper academic objectivity and rigour – we don’t believe in any of it. And they think we’re a government propaganda machine, churning out the official version of events. So, we don’t mix.”

Padmé leans forward. “Except, presumably, you did?”

“You have to understand that I had just finished my course – reached the pinnacle of my career, as it turned out. Literally.” He grins suddenly. “The University building – there are pinnacles on the rooftop. I climbed up to one – tied a sash to it.”

Padmé raises an eyebrow. “A sash?”

“I _am_ civilised,” he says, and glances aside, amusement glinting in his eyes. “Even then, I promise. Someone said it couldn’t be done, but it seemed easy enough to me. So I did it. Some of the general citizens took bets, which I think is how it all led to us winding up in that bar.”

She shakes her head. “Is this going anywhere?”

“Yes,” he says. “I’m almost there – that’s how it was that I failed to avoid one of the Temple types when he came over. He said he’d had a dream about me.”

Padmé can’t help laughing. “Not very original.”

“Oh, no,” he says, and he’s entirely serious now, “he meant it. Or he certainly believed it, I should say. The trouble is, so did I – for a while.”

* * *

 _Qui-Gon Jinn’s one of the worst of the mystics, that’s what his tutors would say. That’s what his tutors_ do _say. But the thing is, he knows things. He knows more about the temple and its workings than anyone at the University. There are somehow rooms in there Obi-Wan’s never even seen before._

_Qui-Gon shows him artefacts he’s found in his travels, and there’s even old holocrons, things supposed to be locked away or destroyed long ago, if they ever existed. And Obi-Wan can’t prove that any of them are fakes. He’s won over; he scratches any ideas he had for his thesis and writes instead about Qui-Gon’s findings. He’s young, he thinks he’s going to revolutionise his field of study, but all he does is get himself expelled for using unreliable sources. They won’t even believe some of them exist. It’s not research, they tell him, it’s fantasy. They’re disappointed in him._

_He’s only angry, because he’s convinced now – of course he’s right, of course Qui-Gon’s right, and they should believe him. He’s determined to appeal, to make them see, even if Qui-Gon only shakes his head over it._

_“They won’t listen,” Qui-Gon says. “I did try to tell you.”_

_The sources are inarguable, though, that’s the point as Obi-Wan sees it. So, if they’d just stop talking, if they’d look, if they’d clear their minds and truly listen, they’d see it too – but they won’t. He buries frustration again, although he understands his tutors’ scepticism to a point – even he stops short of believing everything Qui-Gon says. Dreams, maybe; he’s not even sure he doesn’t have them himself some days, but he’s not falling for impossible conspiracy theories._

_“We keep losing the little we have left of the Jedi,” Qui-Gon says, yet again, although with no heat to his argument. He doesn’t seem to mind if Obi-Wan believes or not. “And there’s one small war after another. I think something’s been happening for a long while – that the Sith are here, hiding in plain sight, steadily destroying all the remnants of the Jedi, and once they have – then they’ll move. But they can’t eradicate the Force, and that means there will always be hope. But it’s not good.”_

_Obi-Wan isn’t having it. “Where’s the logic? If there are no Jedi, what are the Sith hiding from?”_

_“It was in the agreement,” Qui-Gon says, “that if there was any sign of the Sith returning, the Jedi Order would reform. So, here they are, quietly removing more and more of what’s left, unopposed. Maybe it’s easier that way. No open evil for anyone to fight, never mind the Jedi – only a noose tightening ever closer round the neck of the Republic.”_

_Obi-Wan pushes back in his chair, impatient to get back to the important things, to real history instead of fanciful speculation about Jedi who aren’t there to reform or fight anything. “I wish you wouldn’t say things like that. You know what people think when you do. If you’d only brought your findings to the University in the proper way, they would have taken note of them and you. If you stay down here in the city with all the rest of the –” He catches himself, and stops._

_“The cranks?” Qui-Gon says for him, without hurt. “I prefer it that way. I’m sorry, Obi-Wan. I shouldn’t have brought you into this.”_

_Obi-Wan walks out._

_He’s the one who finds Qui-Gon in the temple later. Dead. Murdered. They say it’s a blaster bolt to the chest, but Obi-Wan sees things. That’s not how the wound looks to him; he imagines instead a burning blade has been struck through him, like the old weapons of the Jedi. And, just for a moment, fleeing away from the scene, he sees a monster._

_He sees all kinds of things, and keeps on seeing them, and worse than that, he tells people. He tells the Regional Governor at the Inquest; he tells his tutors at the University, because if Qui-Gon has been murdered, doesn’t that mean it was all true?_

* * *

Padmé frowns at him over the table. “You . . . saw things?”

“It doesn’t matter,” he says, his tone hardening slightly. “They weren’t real, any of them. If you’ve read the report, then you know what happened. I kept on seeing things until one day I didn’t any more. One of my tutors helped – got me this post. You needn’t worry, Senator. I’ve been fine for years. I can’t imagine anyone here will care about it one way or the other.”

She frowns. “Well, either someone does or you’ve been lying, then, because none of that explains why I had to bail you out this morning.”

“I did tell you,” he says, straightening. “Administrator Dooku doesn’t seem to like me.”

Padmé merely stares hard and waits.

“I don’t believe in conspiracy theories,” he says, after a pause, “but Qui-Gon _was_ murdered. It wasn’t random. And the only person I know of with a possible motive is the Administrator.”

“If you have an accusation like that, you should take it to the authorities.”

Obi-Wan gives a short laugh. “You think anyone would listen to me, after the last time? I wouldn’t believe me either.”

“What is this about the Administrator?” says Padmé. “He’s close with the Chancellor – if he puts in a word against you, that’ll be it for your temple.”

Obi-Wan shrugs. “As far as I know, Dooku has no reason to care about anything on Jedha, or the petition, as long as I’m not pestering him. There was some business with stolen goods and some sort of official cover up, I think, involving the locked archives – something Qui-Gon discovered years ago. I gather that’s why he had to leave Coruscant in the first place.”

“And armed with that complete lack of evidence you were going to confront the Administrator?” Padmé’s amused. “I think you _are_ mad.”

He laughs. “I thought I’d see what sort of reaction I got. It _was_ pretty damning, let’s admit.”

“Yes, and now you’ll never get near him again. I don’t approve of your strategy,” she tells him, with a small shake of her head. She’s inclined to believe his story overall. It fits with what she knows, and it doesn’t really matter from her point of view if the petition was delivered by an unusual messenger. It’s not a trap. Except, somehow, she’s gotten involved, hasn’t she?

“What good could I do, in any case?” Obi-Wan says. “At least I feel surer of it in my own mind now. I need not ever fall down that hole again.”

Padmé rises. “I see. I might be able to make discreet inquiries myself, although I’ll promise nothing. But I can present the petition.” She holds out a hand; she’s got another two appointments before midday, and she’s let time run away with her already. Obi-Wan and his odd story make a change from the dry committees she’s got lined up next.

“Thank you, my lady,” he says, taking it, and giving a small bow. “You’ve been very kind.”

Honestly compels her to add, “Don’t get your hopes up. They probably won’t listen. I try, but all too often, it depends on what the Chancellor wants.”

“Nevertheless,” he says, with a bright smile, and she has that feeling again when he goes, as if he’s taken the light out of the room with him.

It’s easy enough, later, to look up Obi-Wan’s inconvenient mentor. Governor’s inquest records are publicly accessible and usually thorough. When she finds it, Qui-Gon’s is no exception, with a number of additional attached documents, starting with an official military record – not what she expected. The fact suddenly gives more weight to everything. 

She skims through it: he starts out in the Senate Guard as an officer, with Administrator Dooku a reference, but what’s not censored out of the record due to military nerves is mostly a catalogue of demotions for disobedience, until his inevitable dismissal. There’s no mention of any thefts. Of course, if it were true, there wouldn’t be. There are also several records of arrests for minor offences in several star systems – vagrancy, trespassing, one street fight, and then nothing till the murder.

The inquest itself is pages long, but she’s ploughed her way through worse committee reports and is undaunted, but in the end it has nothing new to add other than that the investigation remains open. The sole witness, the report concludes, is not in any state to give reliable evidence.

She closes down the screen. Poor Obi-Wan, she thinks.

Padmé has to admit that if the conspiracy theory hadn’t been so impossible, she’d be inclined to believe it herself. It’d be a better motive to kill someone than Dooku chasing Qui-Gon to another star system after he’s already discredited him. That’s the sort of thing that’s more likely to give credence to the original accusation, not bury it. But then, as she knows too well, paranoia is a common complaint within the Senate, and paranoia is not rational.

In the meantime, there’s nothing to go on here – as usual. The only thing she can do to help is what she promised.

And she’s got a bad feeling about that.

* * *

The bar is somewhere a few levels above the undertown – not so upmarket they’ll turn out Obi-Wan on sight, but not so downmarket that Captain Typho will have a heart attack over the security risk. Padmé sits at a table in the corner in violet robes and a lace head covering, angled away from the rest of the room, and waits.

“I got your message,” Obi-Wan says suddenly from beside her, and slides into the seat opposite. “Nice to see you again, my lady.”

She smiles. “Padmé, please. I’m not being official tonight.”

“So I see.”

“I thought I owed it to you to tell you in person that I lost the motion,” she says. “I’m sorry. I did warn you. My track record isn’t that great.”

Obi-Wan nods. “You did.” He nods to the passing waiter. “Shall we drink to our respective failed efforts? What would you like?”

Once the drinks have been delivered, she raises her glass to him. Having toasted their loss, she pulls a face. “Do you know how long it is since the last time I actually won a vote in the Senate unless it was supported by the Chancellor?” She sighs. “Nearly three years. It was when we were deliberating on the colour of the hangings and furnishings for the state chambers. He said he deferred to my obvious expertise in the matter.”

“Unforgivable,” said Obi-Wan. “But then I’ve never liked him.”

Padmé laughs. “You don’t know him.”

“I’ve seen holo broadcasts,” he says. “Of course – present company excepted – I don’t like politicians.”

Padmé shakes her head. “You’ve only met Senator Meyg, so I suppose I’ll have to forgive you. Some of us are all right.” She meets his gaze across the table. “I thought you might have left for Jedha already.”

“I had to wait for an answer.”

“You’re not thinking of trying anything else foolish, are you?” she says. “I doubt I can intervene if you get arrested again.”

He raises his eyebrows. “Is that likely?”

“I’ve the strangest feeling it is,” she says, and gives him her best stern look.

Obi-Wan laughs. “You’re not very frightening, you know. And no need to worry. I may have asked some questions at Old Temple Gardens, but I didn’t mention the Administrator to anyone.”

“You went to the Old Temple Gardens?” It’s what they turned the Jedi Temple into, long ago, after it was first levelled; the garden above, the sealed off archives below. The place isn’t thriving in the polluted atmosphere, and it’s not usually a tourist destination, so she’s willing to bet this isn’t about ancient history. “You _are_ up to something.”

“If I were, it would be better for you not to know.”

That’s true, but Padmé is unwilling to concede the point. “I looked into your friend’s death, you know. I don’t understand why the Administrator would want to kill someone he’d already dealt with. It makes the wild conspiracy theories almost sound plausible.”

“No, no,” he says, all amusement vanished from his tone. “Don’t go down that road, Padmé. Please. Trust me.”

She shrugs. “Oh, I don’t believe it, but I could if it wasn’t about the Sith and the Jedi. It’d make Chancellor Palpatine in league with the villains, and these days I’m not so sure that’s not the truth.”

“Even so,” he says. “Look, what I was doing – it occurred to me that perhaps the thefts haven’t stopped. There might not be anything we can do as regards Qui-Gon, but if items are still being taken out of the sealed archives somehow and sold on the quiet, with Senate Guard officers paid off, there may be a fresh trail to follow.”

“Leading right back to the Administrator?” says Padmé. She can see the logic, but she can’t imagine his investigation ending well. “Haven’t you got yourself in enough trouble?”

“You mean I might endanger my form-filling role at the University?”

She leans across to put her hand over his. “I mean, you could get yourself killed, and I don’t want that.”

He won’t quite look at her, and she feels a pang of sadness, but she understands. It’s the same reason she keeps bringing lost causes to the Senate, no matter how dangerously inconvenient it makes her.

“I’ll be careful,” he says. “And I can’t justify staying away for more than another week or so. I can survive Coruscant for that long.”

Padmé draws back, but she smiles, and when he looks up, she raises her glass to him. “Good luck.”

“And you,” he says softly. “My lady.”

She doesn’t correct him, feeling the heat rise in her cheeks. “So,” she says, a little breathless at her unaccustomed daring, “I had something else I wanted to ask. If you’re not too busy trying to do something reckless, that is.”

“Oh?”

She tries to be casual, but it’s not easy. Senators aren’t casual about propositions. They usually involve political favours, bribery, fishing for information or plain old-fashioned trying to kill someone. This is different. “Yes. What would you say if I told you I’d had a dream about you?”

“I’d say that was very unoriginal,” he returns, with a grin.

Padmé holds his gaze. “True,” she agrees. “The thing is, I’m not very good at this – and I heard it worked once before.”

“Now there,” says Obi-Wan, “you have me.”


End file.
